More Than Human

I flex my chest, watching the pectorals expand. I curl my right arm and flex the bicep. I straighten the arm, turn around, and flex the tricep. I study my back and shoulders, flexing the muscles under the flesh. I bend my knee slightly watching the gluteus and hamstring flex. I turn around again and flex the quadriceps.

I study my body in the mirror, looking for any flaw. To say mine is the perfect male human body would be an exaggeration. Perfection is impossible. I can only approach perfection, and everyday I get a bit closer.

I brush my fingers across my chest feeling the smooth skin for any hair stubble, but feel none. I slide my fingers down my stomach feeling the separation between each muscle in the abdominals. I turn to the side looking for an excess curvature in my spine.

I face the mirror, scrutinizing every square inch of my body. I disregard my known flaws such as the scars on my chest, knee, and arm. I approach the mirror and closely study my face. My teeth are straight and white. My face is shaved smooth. My hair has no gray and is not receding. My eyes are alert.

I step back and stand with my legs spread, my hands on my hips. My penis hangs low. The foreskin covers the head. My testicles are well formed and potent.

It is 2:50 a.m. It is time to dress and leave. I drive over an hour before reaching my destination.

I park my car in the parking lot of a small, quaint shopping district. I will walk from here. I carry my bag as I tread into the woods, watching for people that might see me. There is nobody. I didn't expect to see anybody. The walk back will be different.

I stride through the woods and then turn north approaching her house. Her house is one of a few expensive homes in this upper class neighborhood. Each home has a large plot, keeping them fairly well separated. My watch shows 4:23 a.m. as the time. I am on schedule.

I see her house ahead of me. I easily scale the tall, wood privacy fence. I stay in a crouch as my feet hit the ground inside her yard. I study the house for several minutes, searching for movement or lights, but the house is quiet. I press my body to the fence and walk to the southeast corner of the yard. Then, I follow the fence towards the house, my eyes watching the windows, my ears listening for any sound. I reach the northeast corner of the fence, directly behind the house. I will wait here. I sit behind a large tree to wait, my back supported by the fence.

I have several hours to wait and my mind drifts. I remember the layout of the house, picturing each room, each door, and each window. I have been in her house several times before. I have walked through each room, searched through every drawer, read every letter, and scanned every book. I know her well. I have watched her live her life for over six months now and I know that she will be a great mother for my child. She is intelligent. She is strong. She is beautiful. She is rich. She is lonely.

She is searching for something and I will be that something for her. I've seen it in her eyes. I've read it in her poetry. Her life has lost meaning. She blindly holds to her pitiful life, trying to find a reason to continue with each day. Her marriage has no love. Her kids barely talk to her. She is disillusioned with her comfortable family life. She tried to find meaning through her family, but didn't find it. That is why I have chosen her. Compared to most people she has actually evolved, and in time perhaps she will even understand.

The early morning sun has risen. I check my watch and the time is now 7:25 a.m. Her husband will be leaving for work soon. He, like most people, is a worthless human being. He doesn't even make use of the oxygen his body absorbs. To destroy such a being would be a privilege. He is like most people, scurrying about the face of the earth, oblivious, impotent, and disgusting. I am revolted by the thought of all of these people living next to me, walking beside me, breathing the same air. It is horrifying. I can barely keep myself from breaking into a violent rage when I am in public areas. I abhor their very existence. These weak-minded, weak-willed, frivolous, little beings living their drab little lives are so repulsive, so despicable, that I want only to annihilate them and rid my life of their hideous existence. They are born. They eat. They shit. They fuck. They breed. They die.

There are so few people whose lives are worth more than the few seconds of drunken ecstasy that was needed to create them. Those few great people who do understand rise to supremacy. That is only inevitable. One who truly understands life has a distinct advantage over the rabble of misguided sheep. Some people have this greatness in them, but don't realize it. She is one of them.

I hear the garage door open and peer between two wood slats. I see his silver Mercedes back out. He turns in the large parking area and drives down the long driveway on his way to work. He is on time. He always is. I suspect he can't wait to get away from his family, even if he is only going to work. Perhaps he will meet his mistress for a lunchtime rendezvous.

She will be leaving in ten minutes to take the two children to the private school. She could be such a remarkable woman, but has allowed herself to be beaten into a role for which she is not designed. Her genetics have made her far superior to most human beings, but the world has done well to suppress her natural gifts. I hope that she does not allow the same to happen to our child.

I watch as the Lincoln Navigator maneuvers down the driveway. I wait three minutes to make sure she will not be returning for a forgotten lunch or book. Then, I stand. I stretch my cramped legs and back. I pull a pair of gloves from the bag and put them on. I grab my bag and walk to the screened porch. I reach my finger through the small hole I cut in the screen door six months ago. I flip the lock and quietly open the door. I close it behind me firmly and approach the door to the house. This door is the easiest to unlock. It does not have a deadbolt. I pick the door lock after a few seconds. I know that she never sets the alarm. Her husband sets it at night, but she never bothers with it during the day.

I step into the house slowly, listening for any movement. I hear nothing. She will not be back for twenty minutes, so I take my time walking to the master bedroom. I walk quietly through each room, making sure there is no one home. I admire her taste. She has decorated her home handsomely. It is no wonder her husband spends so little time here. This is her home. I walk through each room on the first level of the house and then walk up the front staircase.

Upstairs I inspect each room as well. When I am satisfied that the house is empty I walk into the master bedroom. She still sleeps here. Her husband sleeps in the bedroom next door. I slide my gloved hand along the frame of a large painting of her above the bureau. He had this done as a gift to her soon after they were married. She doesn't like it and leaves it up to remind herself of the loathing she feels for him. I admire the painter's interpretation of her face. He saw the intelligence and the will in her eyes. She looks out of the painting with a challenge to the viewer. Her chin is high. Her smile is almost a smirk. She is confident. She is beautiful. I brush my fingers across the painted cheek once and then turn away.

I must prepare. I set the bag on the bed and open it. I find the colored contacts and use the vanity mirror to put them in. My eyes change from a deep blue to a dark brown. I pull the ski mask over my head and stand in front of the mirror. I tuck all of my thick curly, blonde hair under the mask. No skin is showing around the dark blue jogging suit or black leather gloves. I pull the taser gun from the bag.

"Thou goest to woman? Don't forget thy whip," I mutter Nietzsche's aphorism to myself, and chuckle. I may not have a whip, but I think the taser gun will work fine.

I move into the closet and close the door. I can see into the bedroom if I peer through the space between the wood bi-fold doors. I look at my watch. She will be back very soon.

I am very relaxed. I know that I am well prepared for this. She is a remarkable woman and this should be a very successful insemination.

I hear the front door being unlocked. I hear the door being opened, closed, and then locked. She is coming directly up the steps to the bedroom as I expected. I grip the taser gun in my hand tightly. I hear her approaching the bedroom. I see her as she lays her purse on the vanity and stands before the mirror.

I quickly throw open one of the closet doors and aim the gun at her. She starts to turn towards me. I fire the taser gun. The probes fly through the air and attach to her shirt. She falls to the ground as the first voltage spike overwhelms her nervous system. I step towards her, watching her laying on the floor as each wave of current makes her body twitch. I wait thirty seconds for the last shock to be sent through her and then quickly pull the probes off of her.

I wrap my arms around her back and lift her up. I lay her on the middle of the bed. I walk back to the closet and pick up my bag. I reach in and pull out the two lengths of rope. Each is already cut to the proper length and has a loop at each end tied with a strangle snare. I place her left wrist in a loop and pull it tight. I bend down, lift the foot of the bed, loop the other end around the bed leg, and drop the bed back down. I do the same to her other hand, binding her tightly to the bed leg. Then, I pull a black scarf from the bag and tie it around her eyes as a blindfold. She lays limp the entire time her nervous system still recovering from the excess voltage. She will be moving in several minutes, but for now she is completely helpless.

Once I am certain that she is bound tightly and the blindfold has blocked her vision entirely, I remove the ski mask and gloves. I shove them back into the bag.

I turn back to her and approach the bed. Her arms are spread wide, held by the ropes. There is enough slack so that she can move some, but her arms will stay pulled to the side. I sit on the bed at her right side.

"Anna," I say to her softly. "I know you can hear me. I know you are afraid. You will soon regain movement. Once you do, I warn you to not scream. I do not want to gag you, but I will if I have too. Okay?"

I stare at her beautiful face. I reach up to pull her auburn hair out of the blindfold and drape it across the pillow. I place my palm against the warm, soft skin of her cheek. I rub my thumb across her red lips, and then down under her chin.

"You are beautiful," I mumble. "Much too beautiful for what you are doing to yourself." I stare at her prone body, hidden well inside the loose jogging suit she puts on in the mornings.

I stand up and grab the sharp knife from my bag. I return to the bed and sit beside her again. I grab the sweatshirt at the neck and lift it up from her body. I press the knife against the fabric and begin tearing it down through the shirt. I drag the knife down cutting the shirt apart moving towards her waist. Once the shirt is cut open I thrown the two halves apart. She is naked underneath the shirt. Her skin is nicely tanned. Her body is in very good shape for a mother of two. I admire her firm B-cup breasts and flat stomach. This is a woman who understands that one's body is to be treated with respect.

I use the knife to open the sleeves of the sweatshirt and pull the torn shirt from her body. I toss it on the ground. Her chest is heaving with fearful breaths. Her legs are moving slightly on the mattress. She is beginning to recover. I stand and place the knife back in the bag. I walk to the foot of the bed and grab her pants at the waist. I yank her pants and underwear down her legs and drop them on the floor. I admire her long, lean, tanned legs. I have watched her jog in her neighborhood and seen her strong calves flexing at each step and her lean thighs stretching for the next stride. She moves like a wild gazelle, her strides long and athletic, running from a life she doesn't want.

She is moving slightly on the bed, pulling at the ropes. I must be quick. I'll have time to inspect her body later. Now, I must begin the first insemination. I walk to the bag and pull out a tube of lubricant. I kneel on the foot of the bed between her feet. Quickly, I loosen my pants and push them and my underwear down my thighs. I stare at her naked body, getting aroused by her. I squeeze some of the lubricant into my hand and begin massaging it onto my penis. It becomes hard in my hand as I watch her moving more now, her head turning to the side, listening to me. I look at the firm muscles of her thighs and the swell of her hips. My penis becomes fully erect, large and hard.

I place my left hand on the mattress at her side and lower myself towards her. I try to block out thoughts of the millions of imbeciles performing this act right now, rutting like wild beasts. I know that what I'm doing is important. I grab my erect penis and place it against her vulnerable labia with my right hand. I guide into her and push it in. The head slips in easily. I move my right hand to the other side of her and hold my upper body off of her, hovering over her. I press into her harder, feeling my penis move further into her, sinking snugly inside of her. I pull out of her partly, enjoying the delicious sensation of my penis sliding inside of her vagina. I push back in, making room inside of her for my penis, and then start forcing it in and out of her.

I arch my body over her, our bodies touching only where we are joined. I look down at our bodies. I see my pelvis thrusting between her legs, the root of my penis emerging from her and then moving back inside of her. Her hips are pushed forward slightly with each insertion and relax back with each withdrawal. The act is so beastly, taking this woman, but yet feels so wonderful.

I drive into her harder, moving in long, fast strokes. The bed groans beneath us. I push myself up further, twisting my hips into her, my hard penis driving up and into her. My legs press against her inner thighs, spreading her legs wider. Her vagina grips my penis firmly, tight but giving. I thrust faster, pushing towards the conclusion.

I increase my pace, trying to work myself to a quick orgasm. I thrust into her, feeling my penis pushing far into her. Her body is pushed roughly against the bed as my hips pound into her. She grunts softly each time my penis is forced inside of her. I move into her in longer strokes, wanting to feel the entire length of it sliding in and out of her. My penis feels incredibly long and hard as I move faster, pushing harder, my body shaking, thrusting deeper, twisting my hips into her, my testicles pulling up against me, groaning above her, my head lifted high, straining to push into her faster, deeper, building to the climax.

The semen bursts from me and into her. The release is wonderful. I grind into her, my body trembling above her, trying to drive every bit of sperm into her that I can. I sink down on top of her, my chest lying against her breasts as I twist my hips against her. The semen leaks from me, dripping inside of her. I stop moving and lay still, panting, relieved that the first insemination has been done.

Her body begins to move beneath me, her hips bucking slightly, trying to throw me from her. I press myself against her, pinning her to the bed.

"Lie still," I tell her. "I do not want to shock you again, but I will if you don't listen to me." She stops moving. Her chest is heaving beneath me. I slip my shrinking penis from her, assured that the last of the semen has entered her womb, and step off of the bed. I pull my pants back up.

"Please, sir, please take whatever you want but don't hurt me," she pleads, her head turning to find me.

"I'm not here to rob you, Anna," I tell her. "And I won't hurt you if you don't make me."

"Please..." she starts, but her voice breaks up as she starts to cry.

"Don't do that!" I yell. I stamp to the side of the bed and lean over her, my fists twisting into the bed sheets. "Don't you fucking cry!" She grabs her lower lip between her teeth, trying to stifle her cries, her chest hitching with each muted sob. I bring my knees up onto the bed and look down into her face. "Anna," I say calmly. "I know you're stronger than this. Crying isn't going to make this situation change. Get yourself under control and deal with it." I step off of the bed and sit in the chair at her vanity. I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees, watching her. She takes a deep breath, her chest rising, her stomach sucking in, and then exhales slowly, calming herself, getting control. I'm very impressed. She's even stronger than I thought.

"Please, sir, let me go," Anna says, her voice composed. "I won't tell anyone, just let me go."

"Anna," I say. "I will let you go soon and you won't tell anyone. For now lie still." I stare at her naked body, tied to the bed. She has crossed her legs at the ankles, trying to protect her modesty. I smile to myself. I stand from the chair and approach the bed. I appraise her body. She has a light tan and must tan in the nude because she has no tan lines. Her bound arms are slender, but well-toned. I can see the biceps and triceps flexing beneath the skin as she pulls against the ropes. Her shoulders are broad for a woman. Her neck is long and sensuous. Her breasts are round and firm, sloping nicely down to her chest, her ribs visible slightly through the skin as she inhales. Her waist is slender curving into her flat stomach, and then back out to her round hips. Her legs are impressively toned. The quadriceps in her thighs flex nicely as she holds her legs together.

"Your body is in excellent shape," I say to her. "I've seen you run. I've seen you perform yoga. I've wondered what your body looked like under the clothes. It is admirable. So many people mistreat their bodies, use them for instant gratification, and never give the body the respect it deserves." I stare at her, admiring her. "I want you to see my body. I think you will appreciate it."

I pull my shirt over my head and fold it neatly on the nightstand. I remove my shoes and socks, setting them by the bed. I take off my pants and underwear and lay them neatly on top of my shirt. I get the ski mask from the bag and pull it over my head. I check the mirror to make sure my hair is completely tucked inside of the mask.

"I'm going to remove your blindfold now," I say to her, "But only for a minute." I lean over the bed and push the blindfold up from her eyes. She blinks as the light in the room strikes her eyes. I step to the foot of the bed, standing before her naked. I set my shoulders back and tense my body, letting every muscle flex subtly. She lifts her head from the pillow and stares at me. I watch as her gaze moves across my body, sliding along my chest and abdomen, hesitating at my groin, and then moving slowly down my legs.

"So?" I ask and turn around to let her see my back.

"You're very...You're in very good shape," she says shyly.

"Good shape?" I say and turn back facing her. "I'm in excellent shape. You can admit it."

"Yes, you're in excellent shape, very...fit, very sexy," she says, her eyes now probing my masked face.

"Sexy?" I say and walk slowly towards the bed. "Do I turn you on Anna?" I kneel on the foot of the bed and straighten my back, looking down at her.

"No," she says. "Under different circumstances, yes you would. But I'm too afraid right now to be turned on," she adds sarcastically. I smile at her. I hear no fear in her voice now. She is a strong woman. That is one reason I chose her. She will be an excellent mother for my child.